


On High

by nchi_wana



Category: Sabata (1969)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Observations, Post-Canon, Rare Characters, Rare Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nchi_wana/pseuds/nchi_wana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew that one of the wisest things an outcast could do was lie low and wait. Or, in his case, sit high and observe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On High

**Author's Note:**

> Sabata is copyrighted to MGM and does not belong to me. This is a nonprofit fanfiction meant for the enjoyment of other fans. Please do not copy or distribute this fanfiction. Comments, critique, and kudos are all appreciated! :)

He sat perched on the roof, his balance precarious but expert.

Alley Cat swept his gaze over the main street of Daugherty in his daily surveillance of its citizens. In the midafternoon heat, he could feel the sweat beginning to creep toward his eyes, but busy as he was with his arms folded over his broad chest, he didn’t bother to wipe it away. It always paid to keep vigilant, searching out any possible opportunity that could be turned into a handsome profit. Having lived as an outsider everywhere he went, he had sharpened his wits, and knew that one of the wisest things an outcast could do was lie low and wait. Or, in his case, sit high and observe. When the timing was right, the hunter could strike.

Nothing escaped his scrutiny. When Sabata had rode into town on his black horse and befriended Carrincha, he’d been there, watching, even in the deep darkness of midnight. He’d witnessed the bank robbery himself, but wasn’t surprised to find Stengel and his henchmen were behind it all. He often watched Stengel, that overly-opulent snob who had a penchant for fine wines, sadistic games, and staring down his nose at those he judged unworthy to even lick his boots. As usual, Alley Cat had waited for an opportunity. He’d been wary at first. It was easily apparent that Sabata wasn’t a man to be trifled with. A man’s face could tell many stories, and Alley Cat had a skill in reading them. Sabata had been trustworthy, unlike the transient vagabond Banjo who landed on the side of the highest bidder.

A commotion down below brought Alley Cat’s attention to the saloon. Not again. Was he back on that same old path? Carrincha stumbled out of the saloon in a fit of curses, his already filthy clothes catching more dust as he staggered backwards into a dirt cloud left by a passing wagon. His coughing could be heard from Alley Cat’s position. While his friend was in some distress, he had no intention of seeing to him. He remained on the roof, watching curiously to know what it was this time that got Carrincha thrown out. It certainly couldn’t have been because he was broke. Then again, maybe it was. He didn’t put it beyond his companion to blow thousands of dollars in a short period of time.

Carrincha’s cries echoed over the buildings. “Ah! You sorry bastards! Is this how you treat me now?!” He faltered drunkenly in the street. He moved in a circle, casting his gaze on the people moving by, as if seeking assistance to this wretched miscarriage of justice. People hurried along, and some stared at him from the other side of the street. Alley Cat could see a group of cowhands chuckling. They were probably recognizing Carrincha as the village idiot.

“I was the right-hand man of Sabata!” Carrincha declared, careening to one side. He almost toppled into a watering trough, but caught himself on the hitching post in front of it. “He saved you all! That son-of-a-bitch Stengel was going to—“ His foot slipped in an pile of fresh horse manure, and he fell back with a frightful obscenity. Women who so happened to be close enough to hear scampered away in disgust.

A slight smile twitched on Alley Cat’s face. What was this Carrincha was ranting about? _He_ was Sabata’s right-hand man? If he recalled correctly, he’d been just as involved as his friend, although he never demanded any part of Sabata’s profit. The enigmatic gunslinger had a rare sense of morality that bordered on ambiguity. Alley Cat hadn’t needed to ask for a share in the spoils. Carrincha had somehow picked up on this trait and had been generous in splitting the money after Sabata left. Banjo had spent hours scavenging his share of the banknotes that had been strewn over the hillside by the wind. Sabata was a man to be respected. He let people know it.

No one knew what happened to Banjo, though. The man simply disappeared. Not that Alley Cat really cared. The town was quieter without that obnoxious instrument the scoundrel was always strumming. The same song over and over and over… And that impudent smirk he always wore! Alley Cat put Banjo in the same category as Stengel.

Carrincha resigned himself to sulking on the edge of the boardwalk outside the saloon. Apparently he’d run out of steam.

A woman came out to stand next to him, her blonde mane twisted up in a hive of curls. Her dress indicated her status as a saloon girl, although she was beyond the years of being called a girl. What was her name again? Oh, yes, Jane. The foolish doxy who thought Banjo loved her. How she had remained with Banjo was a mystery to Alley Cat. More than once he’d caught that exasperated sigh and those piercing glares she tended to direct at her lover.  It was almost as if she knew Banjo was no good, yet somehow she kept this hope that things would work out, if she kept sleeping with him.  Her body had been the only thing keeping him coming back. Maybe she’d been just as deceitful as her lover, using him as her ticket to paradise. She deserved what she got in the end.

He saw Jane crouch down beside Carrincha, and the words they exchanged were too low for even his keen ears to pick up. Those two weren’t friends by any means, but their roles in the events involving Sabata and Banjo had somehow created a peculiar and obscure camaraderie forged by two people who had experienced the same story; a connection borne of understanding.

Alley Cat thought it was bizarre. He preferred to keep his distance, and it was serving him quite well. Few acknowledged his existence, which meant few would believe his involvement in any wrongdoings. Some had known of his escapades with Sabata, but his silent disposition and tendency to stay out of the public eye gave him the advantage of avoiding inspection. Let others make themselves obvious.

Carrincha moped a while longer on the boardwalk before waving Jane away. The saloon girl shrugged and sauntered back inside, back to work. The man pulled his hefty frame to its feet, his rotund belly stretching the fabric of his faded red shirt. He wobbled a bit. Alley Cat waited, making a bet with himself that his friend would take another fall, but he didn’t. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have put so much as a dent in Carrincha. The flamboyant Mexican was hardy and as loyal as a dog. He was ambitious but good-natured, having a discerning eye for opportunity and alliances, just like Alley Cat. It’s what made them compatible partners.

Carrincha made a futile attempt to dust his clothes off, salvaging what little he had of his dignity, if he ever had any to begin with. He jerked a glare at the rooftop where Alley Cat was waiting. The scowl on his face melted away at the sight of his pal. “Hey!” he called out, a jovial grin spreading over his portly features. “Alley Cat! You don’t even come down to help your friend?” When Alley Cat didn’t reply—as was his custom—Carrincha scowled again, one meant for play. He waved his hand once. “Ahh, you’re no good like the rest of them.”

Alley Cat launched from his roost, taking advantage of a rolling wagon on the road as he used its canvas top to propel himself up and over to where Carrincha stood. People sometimes whispered that Alley Cat was a castaway circus performer, but his true origins were unknown. It enhanced his mystique. But Carrincha wasn’t one to care about any of that.

He landed with perfect precision on front of his friend, crossing his arms with his mouth set in such a way that often made it difficult to tell whether he was smiling or not.

Carrincha grinned with mischief. “Ahh, so you do care! That’s what I can expect from my only friend.” His expression changed abruptly, casting about at the people milling around them. He leaned in toward Alley Cat, his eyes shifting, looking for eavesdroppers. He licked his lips. “I heard Sabata’s on the move again. People are saying he found an Irishman’s hoard of gold!”

Alley Cat refrained from raising his eyebrows, maintaining his stony visage. He thought everyone in town believed Sabata was dead after the duel with Banjo. Had the secret gotten out so quickly?

“He could come back this way,” Carrincha said with hope, wiggling two fingers like a walking person. He glanced to his right at a man who was departing the saloon. “Say, Alley Cat, let’s leave this place, eh? Go find Sabata; make more money.”

Alley Cat’s brow creased slightly. He didn’t have any particular affection for Daugherty. He could go anywhere, thrive anywhere. Like smoke on the wind, he came and went, without anyone knowing he’d even been there. Few would notice his absence.

The idea seemed good, but he figured Sabata wouldn’t be keen on taking partners for any long periods. He seemed the kind to take an alliance only when it benefited him for the time being. Otherwise, he was a loner, free to move as he pleased.

Carrincha sensed his hesitation and became more insistent. “He knows us. He’ll let us.”

A couple of drunks swayed off the boardwalk from the saloon, laughing raucously. Alley Cat watched them with indifference, and then glanced down at the horse manure sticking to Carrincha’s shoe. The smell had reached his nose.

“What more can we do here?” his heavy friend said. “Since Sabata left, we’ve had nothing.”

Alley Cat had to agree with that assessment. Things had slowed down, although the memory was still crisp as the morning air. He hadn’t been able to find any more opportunities, and when this happened he usually moved on.

When he gave a modest nod, that familiar grin appeared on Carrincha. His friend gave a low, devilish chuckle.

Alley Cat smiled back.


End file.
